The Gift
by Danae.Jenx
Summary: It's the holidays. Erik expects to spend another miserable holiday alone. Christine wishes for her angel to reveal himself. Will events go as planned? Alternate take on the POTO universe. The De Chagny's are Christine's adoptive family, and Erik is younger in age.
1. Chapter 1

**It's the holidays. Erik expects to spend another miserable holiday alone. Christine wishes for her angel to reveal himself. Will events go as planned? Alternate take on the POTO universe. The De Chagny's are Christine's adoptive family, and Erik is younger in age.**

A/N – Well, I started this story in 2011, and it's taken me over 4 years to complete! I am still editing the last several chapters and might change the title. Anyone care to beta? I'll try posting every week. Since I do not have internet at home, posting can be somewhat irregular.

**The Gift**

Chapter 1

_Erik, Christmas Eve_

It was one of those miserable days, when everyone plastered smiles upon their faces in celebration of Him and His so-called gifts. I would have preferred to stay undisturbed in my lair, far away from the taint of smiles and cheer. There was, however, one person to whom I always bequeathed a gift, and this Christmas would be no different.

Normally, I did not wait so long to deliver my gift. I usually gave myself a few days. But because the necklace had arrived only this afternoon, I had been forced to make the unpleasant trip outside, enduring the revolting sounds of laughter and Christmas carols.

'It's all because of that _blubbering idiot!_' I thought savagely. 'If he hadn't botched the order, the necklace would have arrived on time!'

But there was nothing to do at this point. Tonight was Christmas Eve, and tomorrow, my student would leave to spend the holiday with the De Chagny's, whom she'd fondly referred to as her 'adoptive family.' Therefore, I would have to deliver my present to her tonight.

The gift was, of course, only to keep up the pretense of being her angel. Some years ago, Christine had asked what angels did on Christmas, and I had invented some ridiculous story of the angels celebrating in heaven.

"My voice is needed in heaven, child," I had lied, "for we angels sing in celebration of Him and His everlasting glory."

And Christine – my naïve, _stupid_ student – would greedily wish to hear more, to which I would layer lie upon lie, if only to be rewarded with her sighs and bright, innocent smiles.

I crept upstairs now, through the maze of the underground paths and traps, intent only on delivering my package. Through the mirror, I spied Christine. She was holding her door open a crack, giggling, and I frowned, wondering with whom she was whispering so late in the evening.

"Oh Raoul, you mustn't come inside!" she giggled. "What if Madame hears us?"

I felt an eyebrow rise. The boy didn't usually visit Christine at the Paris Opera house. If anything, she sometimes visited the De Chagny's mansion. I had always been under the impression Raoul and Philippe were like brothers to her.

"You know as well as I that Madame is with her family," he laughed. "Come now, Christine, there is no one here to scold us. Just another goodnight kiss? _Please?"_ He stepped forward then, placing one foot in the door to prevent my student from shutting it.

My fingers itched for the lasso. What was this – a _kiss?_

"No, no," she whispered, trying to smother her laughter. "It is most improper."

"But I intend to marry you," he murmured, his face very close to hers.

I felt myself stiffen in shock. That _boy_, who was like a brother to my student, wanted to _marry_ her?

Christine giggled, "Oh, stop it."

"Shall I make it acceptable then?" The boy teased, producing mistletoe from his pocket. He lifted it above their heads, then leaned forward.

Christine made a muffled sound, and I turned away, my hands tightening into fists. I felt my shock disintegrate into rage, bitterness, then self-loathing.

Over the past five years since I had first begun tutoring her, Christine had transformed from a scrawny, depressed girl into a shy, beautiful woman. Every day, she grew more radiant. Even though she had quickly risen to the ranks of a star soprano, what girl could refuse a handsome, wealthy gentleman and a life of comfort and luxury? One day, she _would_ leave the opera house, marry, give up singing, and begin a family.

I lifted my gaze, forcing myself to watch as Christine's lithe body was crushed helplessly against the boy's, and to my surprise, she gently pushed him away. My traitorous gaze wandered to the exposed skin of her shoulder, where her nightgown had slipped and which she quickly straightened. The wild curls of her hair had come loose during their kiss, and she nervously tucked them behind an ear.

A kiss, so easily given and so easily taken...

How often had I yearned for such a simple pleasure? How many times had those perfect pink lips distracted me, as she sung in rapture of _my_ music?

All this time, I had refused to see my student in any way except as a teacher. But now, with the threat of him so blatantly displayed, I felt crushed and devastated at the inevitability of her absence.

My own response startled me. I could feel the mask sticking to me, and belatedly, I realized I was shaking. It took all of my willpower not to crash through the mirror and throw that _boy _away from my student.

Yet none of these feelings made any _sense!_

I was not even particularly _fond _of Christine. She had always struck me as extremely foolish and stupid. I found her conversations mundane and silly. Half the time, I barely paid attention to anything she said. The only reason the girl had caught my attention was because she possessed the purest voice I had ever heard. Her talent and work ethic were also passable. Posing as her Angel of Music was simply the most efficient choice, given the situation.

No, this was a moment of weakness – that was all. I simply did not like the fact that eventually, Christine would leave the Paris Opera, and I would return to my prison of loneliness. It was _only_ loneliness. _Only_ that.

"Goodnight, Christine." De Chagny's voice intruded upon my thoughts, and I watched, trembling, as he reached over and caressed her chin.

My student blushed, before whispering back a farewell. The boy retreated, and she shut the door, leaning back against it with a dazed look in her eyes. I saw Christine place a finger upon her lips and when a hint of a smile lifted there, I could stand it no longer.

"Did your _boy_ please you?" I seethed.

Her eyes widened, and she flew to the center of the room, collapsing to her knees.

"A-Angel, forgive me! I thought you had left for the holiday!" she stammered.

"So, my dear, if I were_ not here_, then it would have been okay?" I demanded cuttingly.

"I'm sorry, angel," she cried. "I-I didn't know he would try to do that!"

"How dare you lie to me, you ungrateful child! You knew he was _begging_ you for a kiss!" I boomed. "Obviously, you value your lover's kisses over your angel's music! I shall return to heaven now, and you shall hear from me no more!"

She paled, shaking her head desperately. "No, no, don't do that. It won't happen again. Please, _ange_, don't leave me!"

When I did not reply, she broke into tears and sank to the floor.

I regarded her kneeling, wretched form, feeling disgusted with myself. If she knew what I was, she would not have made such a scene.

"Get up," I ordered. "Get up and never bow before me again." She hesitated, confused, and I spoke impatiently, "For heaven's sake, child, have some dignity!"

At this, she scrambled to her feet, waiting dutifully for my next command.

"Please, _ange_, tell me what to do," she implored. "I'll do anything for you. Anything."

I watched, fascinated by the lovely girl before me. How tempting it would be to take advantage of such an offer! But no, I would not destroy my student. If there was one thing which my bloody hands would not defile – it would be her.

I shook my head, growing cross and frustrated. If anything, her attachment and unquestioning obedience would be harmful for her in the future. She needed to learn to think for herself, not act as some mindless slave. No one should hold such power over my protégée. _Especially_ me.

I should let her go before I ruined her.

"I grew cross with you, my child, though I should not have," I stated in gentler, resigned tones.

Christine continued to stand there obediently, as a sacrifice for the altar.

"Over these years, you have made me proud," I continued, trying to sound as fatherly as possible. "Soon, I will have taught you almost all that I know. The time will come when you will no longer need my tutelage. You will leave this place and go out into the world."

"But _ange_—"

"Let me finish!" I snapped, silently cursing as she jumped in fright. "You ask what you should do, Christine? I ask that you learn to make your own decisions, rather than always attempt to please others. I ask that you stop with this mindless obedience and figure out what you want in life. I ask that you grow up rather than keep acting as a foolish child! From now on, I shall address you as the woman that you are, and you shall no longer pester me with the responsibility of making your decisions for you. You will find that the world is not so kind to those who are so…so stupidly obedient and trusting!"

I watched her blink in astonishment, and she began to speak, curiosity shining in her eyes.

"_Ange_, are you..._upset?"_

I was silent, unsure as to how to answer her question. "Of course not," I huffed dismissively, "I only need to know for certain whether our lessons are to continue regularly or...or if you would rather spend your time with that _boy_."

"Is that all?" she pressed, and to my astonishment, she was staring directly into the mirror.

I realized I had forgotten to throw my voice and cursed myself for my stupidity.

"What do you mean by that?" I moved my voice to her ear, watching as she jumped.

"Angel, are you..._jealous?"_

I stiffened, startled by her perceptiveness.

"Angel? Angel, are you there?"

"Why would I be jealous?" I managed.

There was a silence, and I could feel Christine digesting my reply. Then, she remarked, "God can be jealous. Why wouldn't you be?"

"It wouldn't matter if I were!" I roared, at once extremely irritated. Christine flinched, and I sighed, "Why are you asking me these things?"

"Is there nothing you feel for me?" she whispered. "Am I only a student to you? A voice to teach?"

I felt my heart race, and I watched her in frozen silence. How had _this_ happened? This wasn't in my carefully crafted plans. But then, finding Christine with that _boy_ wasn't either.

She wrung her hands together, obviously uncomfortable in the silence. "I'm sorry, angel. I shouldn't have asked. Please don't be cross at me for asking. It was wrong of me, terribly selfish of me!"

"And what...what exactly would be...selfish?" I ventured cautiously.

She flushed, and I watched, intrigued, as the red spread from her cheeks all the way to her ears and neck.

"I...I wish that you would come to me as a man," she confessed, embarrassed. She paused, biting her lip. "But it's a sinful wish, is it not?"

"Yes," I agreed slowly. "Quite."

She was silent, staring at her feet.

I watched, desperately curious. "And your boy, Christine?" I could not help asking. "What did you feel...with him?"

"I don't know," she whispered, shifting uncomfortably. "That was my first k-kiss. I suppose I'm flattered, but..."

"But what?"

An awkward silence followed. Again, she reddened, and I felt my own face grow hot beneath the mask.

'It means nothing,' I told myself scornfully. 'She does not love _you_. She doesn't even _know_ you. If she did, she'd run away screaming.'

Imagining Christine's screams was sobering. Clearing my throat, I switched to professional mode.

"We will not speak of this again," I stated as steadily as I could. "It is best that you to retire for the night. Remember, you are leaving tomorrow morning."

She bit her lip, and I realized with dismay that she looked as though she were about to break into tears.

"Do you need to leave so soon, _ange?_" she cried. "Are you being called away for your heavenly duties? Will I not see you again until after the New Year?"

"Yes," I lied, trying to remain unmoved by the crestfallen expression in her wide, blue eyes. I looked down at my hands, at the gift still clutched within my palm. I'd have to wait until she'd fallen asleep. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Merry Christmas, angel," she sniffed.

I left, trying to ignore the way the disappointment in her tone tugged upon my heart.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Welcome aboard, my new beta **MusicalMaryann!**

Also, I should mention regarding Christine – Due to the lack of space in the ballerina quarters, Christine resides in the dressing room at the Paris Opera.

**Chapter 2**

Over the next several hours, I found myself so incensed over Christine's relationship with her _boy _that I was unable to compose a single note. After much debate, I resigned myself to the necessity of finding another voice to inspire my music. Christine _was _replaceable, was she not? And wouldn't it be a relief, given Christine could be such a wailing mess at times? Moreover, hadn't I been careful to avoid growing attached to the girl, limiting our interactions only to our lessons?

I certainly did _not_ go out of my way to seek my student outside of lessons. I much preferred to spend that time composing. Nor did I pay special attention to her private life, except when it interfered with her singing. Why should it matter what Christine did during her free time, if such activities bore no negative effect on her voice?

Most likely, I was simply annoyed at the inconvenience of having to find another voice, given I had invested years of teaching Christine.

Still, I had to admit that over the past few months, I had grown more preoccupied with my student than was necessary. This was probably due to her behavior, which had grown increasingly confusing and unpredictable. At first, she seemed withdrawn, even nervous, during our lessons. Eventually, she began pestering me with questions about the Opera Ghost. Most likely, this was Meg's influence on her – for Meg was forever asking her mother about my alter ego. I had to assure Christine over and over again that I would protect her from the Ghost. Next, Christine started to _flirt_ with her angel, complimenting me on my voice or knowledge. She would inquire the most outrageous questions of angels, heaven, and hell. I was forced to invent silly lies to appease her insatiable curiosity. Her questions grew so irritating that I finally threatened to stop our lessons, to which Christine tumbled back into desperate obedience. Over the past weeks, I thought our lessons had finally returned to normal. But my relief was short-lived when Christine startled me with her questions earlier today about my _feelings _toward her.

It had been, after all, an unspoken rule that Christine and her angel did _not _discuss such frivolous things as _feelings _– and most certainly not _kisses._ Yet that boundary had been crossed today.

It was therefore with great reluctance that I returned to Christine's dressing room, surprised to find my student awake. At once, I was confronted with yet another reason why I disliked visiting Christine outside lesson hours – I was more likely to find her inappropriately dressed, such as she was now. Seeing her clad only in her nightgown, my body immediately tightened in a disgusting, uncomfortable response.

I tried not to stare at her. Oh no, I did _not _notice the way the thin nightgown clung to the curves of her body. I did _not _see the faint outline of her budding breasts beneath the silk. With a silent curse, I dragged my eyes away, focusing instead on what she was doing.

She was writing in her diary by the candlelight, and as she wrote, her lips lifted in a secret smile. Her expression was such a contrast to her earlier distress that I found myself glaring at her in suspicion. Christine did not write often, only on special occasions.

'But then Christine's first kiss _would _be a special occasion, wouldn't it?' I thought bitterly. 'It certainly would be for _me!'_

My leg was growing tired, and stiffly, I sat down upon the ground, leaning back against the wall. How long was Christine planning to stay awake? Perhaps I should have simply sung her to sleep in our prior conversation, but it had grown so unsettling that I had felt compelled to make a quick exit.

The time crawled ahead when finally, Christine closed the journal and put down her pen. She walked to the closet, humming dreamily, and took out a lacy, green dress. Walking toward the mirror, she placed the dress against her body. A moment later, she reached toward her desk, picking up a white, beaded mask, and I started, somewhat astonished as she held the mask up to her face, smiling mischievously at herself in the mirror. Then, she stuck out her tongue, winked, and puckered her lips in a childish imitation of blowing a kiss.

I felt myself grow warm beneath the mask. What a ridiculous child! I did not know what annoyed me more – her silly faces in the mirror or my pathetic, _clearly_ _un-angelic_ reaction to them.

Were the De Chagny's holding a masquerade? Was that why she was playing with the mask?

My student tossed the dress upon the bed, rummaged through her closet, and hesitated as she contemplated another garment. After a brief moment, she took out a deep red dress. I blinked, my eyes widening in recognition. I had given it to Christine for last Christmas, yet she had never dared to wear it.

Christine had been fascinated by the dress, asking about its color. At the time, I had fibbed a response about the red being a _Christmas_ color. After that, neither she nor I mentioned the somewhat bold garment, and it had remained forgotten in the closet.

But now, as she held the dress against her figure, I found myself unable to tear my gaze away. She reached over toward her desk and slowly slipped on a black, feathered mask. I stared, transfixed. My innocent, naïve student had transformed into a bewitching seductress, and inwardly, I cursed myself for having given her that dress in the first place. Now, she was going to wear _that dress_ to some masquerade party for _that boy, _where masks were mere playthings.

Even the expression in her eyes, as she gazed at herself in the mirror, had changed. There was an awakened curiosity and an arresting maturity within. She watched herself in the mirror, gazing out with strange solemnity, and I lost myself, momentarily, in the mystery of her eyes. It was a look that I had seen only a few times before from Christine. It was one of determination, but resolve for what? For a moment, I was tempted to call out to her, if only to ask what she was thinking. Instead, I forced my gaze away, trying to steady my breathing.

I fully expected Christine to retire to her bed once she had decided upon her outfit, but she kept the candle burning, reading parts of one book, then moved onto another book. More than once, I saw her nodding off, but then she reached out, pinched herself, and stretched her eyelids with her fingertips to keep her eyes open. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. Was she _trying _to stay awake because she knew her angel hadn't yet left his gift?

With a silent groan, I prepared for an especially long night. I thought about retrieving a book from the lair to pass the time but contented myself with imagining music in my head. I was halfway through my third fictional symphony when I noticed the book slipping from Christine's hands. Her eyes had closed, and from the steady rise of her chest, I saw that she had finally fallen asleep.

Carefully, I slid open the mirror, keeping a watchful eye on my student. Her breathing continued normally, and I stood, unable to stop myself from gazing down upon her. My eyes memorized the perfection of her face – the angle of her nose, the roundness of her lips, the curve of her neck. Christine stirred and mumbled in her sleep, and swiftly, I dashed forward to blow out the light.

My student settled deeper into sleep, and I sighed with relief under the shelter of darkness. Very gently, I took hold of the covers, intending to tuck them around her. But just as I was bringing the blanket toward her chin, her hand reached up and caught my sleeve. In a panic, I darted back, and her gift clattered to the floor.

Alarmed, she sat up, snatching a box of matches from her nightstand to light the candle.

"Please don't do that," I asked without thinking.

Her eyes widened at my voice, and her fingers trembled upon the matchbox. I could tell she was tempted, but she placed the box aside, her gaze searching for me in the darkness.

"_Ange_, is that you?" she breathed. "Is it really _you?"_

Shakily, I grabbed her Christmas gift and placed it upon her desk. When I turned around, I found that she was standing and blindly making her way toward the open mirror. Alarmed, I pulled her aside before she could discover the secret passageway.

She froze in my embrace, and we stood there, paralyzed.

"Angel?" she whispered.

"Y-Yes?" I stammered back.

Her voice trembled. "You're holding me so tightly."

I released her immediately, reprimanding myself, and nearly fainted when she reached out and impulsively traced the sides of my torso, up my shoulders and neck. I could not move, dizzy from her touch.

Christine lay a palm flat against my heart then, to my utter astonishment, pressed her ear against my chest. "You have a heart that beats..." Her tone was low, a tremor against my chest.

I did not answer, completely unnerved.

"I _knew _you would hear my Christmas wish, I _knew_ it!" she exclaimed in sudden childish delight.

"Your...your Christmas wish?" I stuttered inelegantly.

"Don't you remember, angel?" she asked, her hand clutching my arm, as though afraid I might vanish if she let me go. "We spoke of it earlier – I wished for you to come to me as a man. After you left, I _prayed _that you would visit me over the holiday. Normally, I do not hear from you until after the New Year."

"I see," I managed. Was Christine really so…_naïve?_

"How long will you be like this?" she asked excitedly. "I mean, in physical form?"

"Why do you ask?" I asked, my mind racing for a way out of this predicament.

"Will you attend a Christmas party with me? Tomorrow, _ange?"_ she asked eagerly. "I will be at Raoul's. I know you are not fond of him, but I would love for you come! We could be with each other, you know, the way you are now...if only for a few moments."

"That is not a good idea," I faltered.

"It's a masquerade!" she burst out. "I'll be wearing the red dress, angel, you know, the _Christmas _one! Won't it be fun to celebrate?"

I swallowed, "Christine, I'm hardly an invited guest."

"Leave that to me," she replied enthusiastically. "They know I've been studying with an amazing voice teacher! I told them I couldn't tell them your name...but you _do_ have one, don't you?"

Again, my throat went dry. "Erik."

"Erik," she repeated, and I felt a little thrill at my name upon her lips. "_Only_ Erik?"

"No family name," I admitted hastily, hardly believing I was entertaining Christine's ludicrous idea. "But you can feel free to create one for me, my dear." I added idiotically, "Not that angels, uh, have a family name."

Christine didn't seem to notice my blunder. "Erik de la Lune," she improvised playfully. "Erik d'Archange. Erik Desrosiers."

"Whichever one you like," I stated stiffly.

"Erik Desrosiers, then," she replied lightly, "for you always leave me roses."

"Child, it grows late, and you need your sleep," I muttered uncomfortably, my hands still fisted by my sides to prevent myself from tainting her with my touch. I tried not to notice the way her rose-scented fragrance flooded my senses or the slight tickle of her hair upon the bottom of my chin.

She moved her head, looking up at me, her eyes somehow mysterious in the dark. "I thought you were going to address me as a lady," she whispered, her breath warm against my neck. "I am, after all, of _marrying_ age."

I was grateful she could not see the flush in my cheeks and hated my body for its reaction. "O-Of course," I stammered.

"You will meet me tomorrow then, for the masquerade? Guests will be arriving at the twentieth hour," she asked. "Please, _ange_, please?"

I said nothing, torn between shouting out for joy and refusing her on the spot. Averting my gaze, I forced myself to regain control. This was growing ridiculous. Of course, I would not attend such a frivolous event. It was madness, not to mention _stupid_.

Without warning, Christine reached toward my face, her fingers ghosting my exposed cheek. Before I could respond, she stood on her tiptoes and impulsively pressed her lips to my unmasked cheek.

"Goodnight, my angel," she whispered, her voice sweet and shy. "Thank you for making my Christmas wish come true."

I trembled in her embrace, unable to breathe. I couldn't respond, couldn't even think!

It was only after she let go of me that I was able to turn and flee back into the safety of the tunnel. Once behind the mirror, I leaned heavily against the wall, breathing heavily. My hand shook as I touched the spot her lips had graced.

My student had unknowingly given her angel his first kiss.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews - keeps me motivated! :-) I'm posting early since I'll be out all day. Happy holidays, everyone!**

**Chapter 3**

_Christmas_

I stayed away from Christine that morning, terrified to face her. She would find my gift, and it should be enough.

Morning passed, and all I could do was pace. I was not seriously thinking of taking my student up on her silly offer. The Phantom of the Opera did not dance or go to parties. The whole idea – it was preposterous!

Why then could I not stop obsessing over it?

The afternoon grew late, and after several failed attempts at composing, I gave up with a groan. I found myself pacing the bedroom and picking out a few suits and masks which would fit the occasion.

'This is only out of amusement,' I told myself. 'I won't appear. Of course, I won't.'

A half hour later, I had decided upon my outfit and laid it upon my bed. Christine's colors were red and black. Mine were black and gold. The red suit was out of question – it was hardly suitable for the role of Christine's angel. The golden mask, though, was the one that I had worn as a magician. Its style was far more dramatic than my customary white mask.

Another wave of restlessness overtook me, and I wondered whether Christine would wear the necklace I had left her as this year's Christmas present. If so, she would have taken my present with her. Unable to restrain my curiosity, I crept upstairs to check into her room.

To my surprise, my student was sitting upon her bed, clutching the necklace I had given to her for Christmas. I noticed that her eyes were puffy, and it looked as though she had been crying.

'She is supposed to be at the De Chagny's,' I thought. 'What the hell is she doing here?'

There was a knock on the door, and I heard the boy calling out to her.

"I told you I'll arrive later!" Christine called, annoyed.

"I won't leave until you open the door!" Raoul shouted back.

"I'm waiting for someone," she replied stubbornly. "I realize I had forgotten to tell him the address."

I gave an inward, frustrated sigh. Didn't she realize that her angel could figure out something as inconsequential as the De Chagny's address...if he had truly wanted to come?

"Him?" Raoul asked, and I could hear the suspicion in his voice. "Who is this person?"

"He's a...a relative of mine," she fibbed.

I bit back a scoff. Christine had always been a terrible liar. And what an obvious lie!

"Christine, you have no relatives," Raoul pointed out. "We're your family."

"Okay, fine," Christine admitted. "He's my teacher. But he's also like family to me."

"Your teacher?" Raoul asked, incredulous. "He's coming!? But—"

"The invitation said we could bring a guest," Christine interrupted.

There was a silence from the other side of the door. I listened on in confusion. Why had the boy reacted so strongly against me? It wasn't as though he knew who I was.

For a moment, I wondered if Raoul had left. But then, the boy spoke.

"Will you open the door?" Raoul pled. "We should talk about this. You can't just invite anyone. My…my parents haven't even met him!"

So, that was what bothered the boy? I rolled my eyes.

"He's not anyone," Christine corrected. "He's my teacher."

"How do you know he's even coming?" Raoul challenged.

"He has to come," my student insisted.

Raoul pounded on the door in frustration. "Everyone's waiting for you! Do you really think my parents would start dinner without you?"

"I'll try to make the dance," my student repeated, refusing to budge. "You can tell them to eat without me."

There was a silence, then – "Christine, open the damned door!" This time, he attacked the door with renewed determination.

"Go away!"

"Why are you being so unreasonable?" he yelled.

"You'll just try kissing me again!" she shouted over his hammering. "Then, you'll drag me to the carriage!"

The racket at the door ceased. "Don't you like my kisses?"

She flushed. "I guess they were nice."

"Nice?" Raoul repeated. "_Nice?_"

Christine did not respond, only continued to play with the necklace.

"Fine then!" he huffed. "Be alone on Christmas for all I care!"

I heard him stomp noisily down the hall.

After he left, Christine sniffed and wiped her eyes, looking even more miserable than before.

I hesitated, then called out to her, "Why didn't you go with him?"

"Angel?" Her eyes brightened, and she looked around the room. "I thought you'd left! I called for you all morning and afternoon, but you didn't answer." After a moment, she added, "Don't you have to be in heaven?"

"Christine, you need to stop this childish dependence upon me," I sighed. "I am only your teacher, my dear."

She blushed, then fiddled with her fingers. "Will you come to me again? As you did last night?"

"No," I flatly refused.

To my horror, Christine burst into tears.

I watched, agitated, and completely at a loss as to what to do. I could not understand these girlish emotions. They simply did not make sense. In fact, what I missed about the early years of our arrangement was that everything had been so simple. I told Christine what to do, and she obeyed. That was all. She very rarely asked questions. Nor had it been usual for her to give into emotional displays. Yet here she was, clearly upset.

The girl was going to be the death of me. For once, I was trying to be good in my pathetic life, and she was tempting me to be even more depraved than I already was.

"You shouldn't have refused dinner tonight, my dear," I stated awkwardly. "It will do you no good to starve."

She gave another pitiful sniff, blowing her nose into a handkerchief.

I gave an uncomfortable cough, then continued lamely, "Well…you really ought to find something to eat. Why don't you prepare yourself to go out in an hour?"

Her eyes lifted, and she whispered, "You mean, you will be taking me out?"

"I mean, you should find yourself something to eat," I clarified quickly. "If you do not go to the De Chagny's, then you ought to treat yourself somewhere else. Of course, I shall be watching over you, as always."

"You mean, you won't need to sing in heaven today? Don't you always sing on Christmas?"

I floundered for a response. "I can watch you from above, my dear. Wherever you go, I shall be watching you."

"Okay," she hiccuped, getting up from the bed.

"I shall return in an hour," I told her, satisfied she finally had stopped crying.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Happy New Year, dear readers! Just to reassure you that this story has an ending, so it won't be dropped. For the New Year, here's a double post. Happy 2015! :-)**

**Chapter 4**

An hour later, I peeked into Christine's room, relieved that she was already dressed and waited for her to tidy up. The girl was fretting over her hair, brushing it out, then pinning it up again. The diamond necklace looked stunning upon her, though she soon covered up the red dress and the necklace with a modest cloak.

Likewise, I had hidden my black masquerade outfit underneath a simple traveler's cloak. I checked my watch. It was two hours before the masquerade. I felt the golden mask within my hidden pocket, and again checked the soft, thin, flesh-colored mask upon my face.

I could scarcely believe what I was doing. But Christine had been so upset.

I had spent a long time carefully applying make-up to the edges of the mask as well as my face to give it the semblance of a real, normal visage. The hat was low and tilted upon my face. Christine would see only part of my chin and a slice of the good side of my face. As long as I kept the hat on, the illusion would be complete.

As though sensing my presence, Christine whispered, "Angel, are you there?"

"I am," I replied quietly, throwing my voice beside her. "Are you ready to go out?"

"Yes," she responded, "though I am unused to leaving the opera house unaccompanied."

"Am I not with you and watching you, my dear?"

"Yes," she answered, though her trembling hand betrayed her nervousness.

I watched her unlock her door and step out into the hallway, looking around and no doubt, searching for her unseen companion.

"I am right beside you," I stated, throwing my voice by her ear.

As soon as she had moved past the doorway, I passed through the mirror, trailing silently behind her.

"Angel, where should I go?"

"Did I not ask you to make your own decisions? You may go anywhere you like, and do not worry about the expense. Think of it as an adventure, a lesson in exploring on your own. There will be a carriage and horseman waiting outside for you to take you wherever you'd like to go."

"Will you not come to me in physical form, as you did last night?" she implored. "I would feel so much more comfortable with you beside me as a man."

"I prefer not to be seen," I responded honestly, "but I am with you, my dear. Have faith in that."

She glanced curiously over her shoulder, and I flattened myself against the wall.

I watched as she moved slowly down the stairs and decided to make use of a secret shortcut to the street outside. Slipping into a passageway, I made quick work of the ropes and pulleys, leaping from the upper level to the ground and rushing to the carriage outside. I had prepared everything in advance, taking César from his stable and hooking him up to the carriage.

I waited nervously for Christine to appear, and when she did, I tugged the hat lower upon my face. She moved out onto the street, noticing the carriage.

"Mademoiselle," I stated politely, disguising my voice, "I have been instructed to take you anywhere you wish and accompany you anywhere you would like to go."

She jumped as she looked at me, and I realized she had not noticed me waiting there.

"Forgive me for startling you, mademoiselle," I apologized hastily.

Christine stared at me curiously, and I turned away, busying myself with César, petting him gently and speaking softly to him. I knew that my eyes had the effect of unnerving people as did most of my appearance. I kept my head tilted so that Christine could see only one eye, as the other was hidden beneath the hat. My mother told me I had the eyes of a cat and that their mismatched colors were the sign of the devil.

"You are quite talented with horses, monsieur," Christine observed after a moment, and I could tell she was trying to see more of my face underneath the hat.

"Thank you, mademoiselle," I replied, relieved that she had not run away. But then Christine was so ridiculously trusting, it should not have surprised me that she stayed. "Animals are always so much more agreeable than people."

Christine continued to stare, and I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Perhaps she would decide not to go after all.

"I am sorry I do not have better accommodations," I gestured toward the carriage, venturing for something to say.

"Oh, it's okay," she laughed pleasantly, "but I've always wanted to sit by the driver. I know it's most unladylike, but would you mind, monsieur?"

"Of course not," I answered graciously, somewhat astonished by her request. She had decided to go with me, and for that, I would reward her.

Wordlessly, I helped her into the front seat, before moving to the other side and taking the reins.

"Have you ever driven before, mademoiselle?" I asked kindly.

Her eyes brightened as she regarded me. "No, monsieur. Would you teach me? I'd love to learn."

"It would be my pleasure," I replied, "though you must direct me as to where you'd like to go."

"There is a restaurant I've heard about," she murmured softly, "a restaurant overlooking La Seine. Do you know it, monsieur?"

I could feel her eyes watching me, though I refused to look directly at her.

Of course, I knew which she was talking about but feigned ignorance. "You will have to direct me once we are closer," I answered.

She said nothing more, and without another word, I urged César forward.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Over the course of the ride, I patiently explained to Christine how to drive the carriage. Although several times, I had to grab the reins from her, to prevent César from veering off the road or to slow him down when he began to move too quickly, Christine was greatly amused and laughed at her own mistakes. For the first time, I found myself enjoying the holiday, and Christine treated me with polite, though shy, friendliness.

We arrived then, and I helped Christine from the carriage, before tying César to a post. The other horses and carriages were lined up inside, and I took a blanket from the back of the carriage, laying it on top of César.

Christine waited calmly, watching my every move, and I walked toward her, daring to place a hand lightly upon her back. "I shall guide you inside, mademoiselle."

"Please," she urged gently, her tone familiar, "call me Christine."

I turned toward her before I could stop myself, and she looked unflinchingly into my mismatched eyes.

"You're my angel, are you not?"

I stiffened, deeply embarrassed, and looked away.

"It's okay, angel," she whispered. She touched my shoulder with a calming hand, and I tensed at her touch. "You needn't explain. I'm only happy you are here with me, as such, though your voice does sound different in this form..."

I felt tears cloud my eyes at her blind, though foolish, acceptance and looked away. Part of me could not believe she was still standing here with me.

"Come, let's go inside where it is warm," I mumbled.

At the use of my natural voice, Christine's eyes widened at the confirmation of my identity.

Self-consciously, I strode forward, faltering in my gentlemanly act.

Christine hurried by my side. "I could tell it was you by the way you taught me how to drive," she stated happily. "You're so patient and kind with me, ange."

"Not always, my dear," I corrected sternly.

"Yes, you are," she insisted. She darted in front of me, forcing me to stop. Once again, her eyes were all over me, and suddenly, she clapped her hands in delight. "This means that you are coming with me to the masquerade, right? Please say yes, angel, please?"

I sighed, still avoiding her gaze. "I'll think on it."

To my disbelief, she grabbed my hand before I could protest. I blinked at her hand, where it held my gloved one, then forced my feet to move. A few moments later, we stood outside the restaurant, and I stopped, at once unnerved by the sight of the crowd inside. This was so clearly a stupid idea. What had I been thinking? Now that Christine knew who I was, she certainly expected me to dine with her. But I had planned to wait for her outside. Now I had to invent an excuse to leave—

"Come on!" Christine dashed ahead and pushed open the doors.

"Christine, wait!"

But she was already inside, and hesitantly, I followed her.

She was already flagging down the host, requesting, "A table for two!"

"Christine—"

Again, she took my hand, dragging me behind her as she followed the host. He led us to a table by the window, took our coats, and pulled out Christine's chair. Even as she sat, I remained standing. The host asked for my hat, but I immediately shook my head. That was when he seemed to notice me, an uneasy glint in his eye. Very professionally, he gestured for a waiter, who immediately handed us our menus and served us water. They left then, though people continued to stare and whisper.

I found myself berating myself for my idiocy. I should have known better than to roam outside on Christmas of all days. I hated going out in public, and the place was packed. But it seemed as though today, Christine's foolishness was contagious, for I found myself trying to fulfill each one of her ridiculous wishes like a dog.

Christine, too, noticed the stares, and noticing her reaction, I finally sat, wishing I could disappear into the chair. I tried to think of what to say in order to exit without upsetting my student.

Before I could speak a word, Christine slipped on her black, feathered mask, smiling brightly in my direction. "Now, we are even," she announced playfully. "You, in your hat, and I, in my mask."

I thought of how happy she looked in the mask and felt a surge of irritation rise up within me. She could not understand how the mask mocked me.

"You need not draw attention to yourself on my account," I stated tiredly. "If I could remove this hat, I would. But my appearance would encourage even more stares, if I did that. Forgive me for not being able to blend in with polite society, my dear."

"Ange, you don't need to apologize," my student replied, still wearing her mask. "As I told you before, you have made me so happy today, simply being here with me. The past few holidays, I was so lonely!"

"But you went to the De Chagny's," I mentioned. "I thought you were happy there."

"Yes, they are practically family," she responded in a rush of youthful passion, "but they are not you."

"And what if you do not know me so well, my dear?" I dared, my eyes narrowing. I wanted to wipe that smile off her masked face.

Her eyes lifted toward me so rapidly that I held my breath, waiting in agony for her response or perhaps her rejection.

"Of course I know you," she announced bravely. "I've known you for five years."

Though it was on the tip of my tongue to confess that I was really a monster who had lied to her and tricked her, I could not bring myself to tell her the truth. Her gratitude touched me, and I found my anger at her disintegrating into sadness. I should never have allowed myself to go to her, for she would eventually discover my true self. Then, like all the others, she would turn tail and never return.

She must have caught the sorrow in my eyes, for she opened her menu and smiled reassuringly. "But it's Christmas. No more of this strange talk. Let's celebrate! Do you recommend any of the dishes here, angel?"

"The salmon is quite good, Christine," I stated, resigned. At least, people seemed to have returned to their conversations, losing interest in us.

"Okay," she smiled up at me, "I will have salmon. What about you?"

"I don't need mortal sustenance," I fudged, trying to find some excuse not to have to eat. But at her expression of expectancy, I added as an afterthought, "I suppose I will order something."

In truth, though, it would be terribly difficult to eat with the mask. I would have to do so very carefully in order not to embarrass myself. Before any more questions could be asked, I snapped my fingers to call over the waiter. The waiter regarded me warily while glancing dubiously at Christine.

We did look ridiculous – me in my wide-brimmed hat, and Christine in her black masquerade mask. Yet, the other customers and restaurant staff had, by now, begrudgingly accepted our presence. It would appear uncharitable for the restaurant staff to kick us out on Christmas Day.

After we had ordered, Christine continued to watch me in fascination, hounding me with questions.

"I would not have guessed that you would look so young," she blurted. "I mean, you act so grown up! But then, as an angel, you must be immortal." She glanced quickly at me through her lashes. "But do angels have tutors, too? Do they also learn by going to school?"

"I taught myself," I answered curtly.

"Angel, how old are you? If you don't mind my asking," she added, blushing, "I don't mean to be so unladylike."

"I'm twenty-five," I snapped, growing annoyed by her stupid, silly questions.

Christine's eyes widened, and she quieted at once. Still, she kept giving me shy, furtive glances.

I suppose it was obvious now that I was a man, for what angel would be twenty-five years old?

"Will you not stare at me so, my dear?" I requested, my voice strained. "This is why I never appeared to you during our lessons. I knew you'd be distracted by my loathsome appearance."

"Your appearance isn't loathsome," she disagreed, before rushing on, "and I won't be distracted. I promise."

"Nevermind," I muttered, preferring not to enlighten her.

The silence continued, growing more agonizing by the second, and it was a relief when the waiter brought out bread and appetizers.

Christine removed the mask in order to eat, though I continued to wear the hat.

Once the waiter had left, I sighed, "Forgive me, Christine. I am unaccustomed to company. How is your appetizer?"

"Delicious!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "I haven't eaten all day, angel, and didn't realize how hungry I was."

"I'm glad you are enjoying your food," I stated softly. I chewed very carefully, making sure that the movement did not give away the mask.

"How long have you lived in Paris?" Christine ventured experimentally.

It was clear that by now, she had realized I was a man, though I found it surprising how calmly she was reacting. Wasn't she upset I had lied to her all these years?

"Only six years," I replied honestly. "I first heard you sing only one year after I had arrived."

"And where were you before that?"

"Out of the country," I stated stiffly.

"Really?" Her eyes brightened with curiosity. "Where?"

"I was in Italy," I fudged, settling on a slightly better memory.

At least in Italy, Giovanni had treated me like a human being...until he had forced me to remove the mask in front of his daughter Luciana. One look, and Luciana had screamed, falling to her death. It was a sobering memory – one to keep in mind with Christine.

"What were you doing in Italy, angel?" Christine wondered.

"Studying architecture," I answered. "I've crafted many things, not only your voice, my dear."

But she was suddenly distracted, pointing excitedly out the window. "Oh look! The sky is so beautiful!"

"It is," I replied, turning my head to squint out into the sunset.

Colors streamed the horizon – pinks, oranges, yellows, reds, purples, and bluish-grays.

"I have always loved the sunset," Christine continued. "If I could paint, I would paint a thousand sunsets!"

She looked positively radiant, and I felt an alarming urge to embrace her tightly and kiss her. She looked so beautiful sitting there, with her hair glowing in the golden sunlight and her lips smiling in joy.

But I shook off the feeling, turning back toward my food. I did not want the sun shining so brightly upon my face. I did not want the fact that I was wearing a mask revealed. Surreptitiously, I maneuvered my head so that the masked side was again covered in shadow.

"You look sad, angel." Christine's attention had once again returned to me. "Why are you sad?"

"I have not led a happy life," I admitted softly, "but today, you have made me very happy."

She watched me, her eyes soft and curious. "I've been so very selfish. I never even asked you what you wanted for Christmas."

"You've already given it to me," I replied without thinking.

"Really? And what was that?"

I looked away, feeling my ears grow warm. "You've worked very hard this year," I stated patiently, "and you have made me proud."

"That's my teacher speaking," she giggled.

I gave a little start. What on earth did she find so funny?

"I am your teacher, Christine, first and foremost." My tone left no room for questions.

She smiled then, and there was a hint of that determined expression I had seen the night before. But I blinked, and it was gone.

But what she said next nearly caused my heart to stop.

"I confess, my angel," she began softly, "I've known for a while that you're a man."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews - Keeps me posting! Of course the more reviews I receive, the quicker I'll post. ;-) Enjoy!**

**Chapter 6**

My fork clattered to the table, attracting yet more disapproving glares from other customers, and I hastily retrieved the utensil. At least, for a little while, people had ignored us.

"You must have thought me to be very stupid," she added quietly, "to believe you were an angel this whole time."

I looked down, feeling my chest tighten. How long had she known? How had she found out? And why had she played along with the pretense?

"I hope you're not cross with me, but I-I didn't know how to tell you."

My eyes lifted involuntarily toward her, and to my astonishment, a different Christine peered back at me. Fleetingly, I recalled the mysterious shadows in her eyes when she had tried on the red dress the night before. Christine no longer appeared as the foolish, naïve girl I had stubbornly persisted in seeing. No, her expression, though timid, was as masked as my own.

"Why should it matter what I think?" I demanded coldly. "Aren't you...afraid? I am a man who has deceived you to gain your trust."

"You'd never hurt me!" she insisted, and the passion in her voice startled me. She added in a calmer tone of voice, "I mean, I know you...At first, I admit I was…apprehensive." At my expression, she blundered forward, "But you were always so kind! Even when I showed up unprepared, you were so patient. And no matter how many times I begged to see you, you refused. I know they're scared of you at the Opera house, but they don't know you. Not the way I do. You've never really hurt anyone, either! If they weren't so busy screaming, they'd realize your pranks are harmless. Some of them are quite funny, actually! But I wish they could hear your music. If they heard it, they would realize who you truly are. Doesn't music reflect the composer's soul?" Despite her confident expression, the slight tremor in her voice betrayed an uncertainty she refused to admit.

I drew an agitated hand through my hair. My luck had run out, and it was time for her to understand who, no what, her so-called angel was.

"You don't know me," I replied, my voice low and shaking. "I can create a great many beautiful fantasies, but fantasies they remain."

"Oh angel, don't say such things. You gave me a voice and a reason to live," she argued innocently.

"Christine, I'm not an angel," I stated emphatically.

She looked guilelessly at me, then broke into a smile. "I'm not afraid." She added boldly, "You've always been an angel to me."

Before I could respond, the waiter arrived with our entrées, and both Christine and I jumped back in our seats from where we had begun to lean toward each other.

"Mademoiselle, your salmon." He placed Christine's steaming plate in front of her. "Monsieur, your lamb."

He left, and Christine laughed, "At this rate, we'll never be in time for the masquerade."

"Ah yes, the masquerade," I muttered irritably. "I suppose you can't wait to see your boy. Will you be singing there, too? Giving free performances for frivolous entertainment?"

Her smile faded, and at once, I regretted my outburst. At the same time, I did not wish to return to the topic we had been discussing before.

"Eat," I ordered shortly. "Let us finish our meals quickly. We'll be in time for the masquerade."

She picked at her food, while I tried to refrain from stabbing at the meat.

In truth, I did not want to share Christine's company with anyone. Every holiday, my student always went to the De Chagny's to celebrate, while I had been left alone. Now that I was with Christine, I did not want to give her up for anyone else, not even the people she considered her closest friends.

"I discovered that mirror mechanism accidentally after one of our lessons," she began tentatively after a moment.

My knife slipped where it was attempting to cut the meat.

"It's so cleverly built, but actually, I'm quite good picking locks! Oh ange, the tunnel was so dark, and I lost my way. But then, I heard your music. It was so beautiful! It seemed to be calling me—"

The shock was too great, and I could stand it no longer. Christine picking locks? Christine roaming around the catacombs?

"You fool!" I exploded. "Didn't it occur to you that it could be dangerous, wandering around such a place?"

"But ange, I just wanted to see you! But then, Madame Giry appeared and—"

"Madame Giry?" I demanded sharply, at once enraged. "Antoinette knew about this!"

That crafty old woman! How dare she not tell me that Christine had discovered the catacombs and had even been wandering around such a place!

"Well, I asked her many times to let me see you, but she refused," Christine replied, oblivious. "She also forbade me from ever setting foot in the tunnels again. But Meg and I sometimes snuck around." She giggled mischievously. "It was fun spying on Monsieur Reyer in his office and scaring the ballerinas. I thought at some point to run into you, but Meg seemed terrified at the possibility. So, I always made sure to call your name first to see whether you were around. If you didn't answer, I'd rap on the mirror. I figured it would give you a start if you were lingering there – you know, that I'd hear you move. Then, I'd open the mirror a crack to take a peek. But you were never around unless it was for our lessons. Anyway, one time, we went below, not very far, and—"

"You will never set foot there again!" I roared, not caring that several people were whispering in our direction. "You could have been killed. Don't you understand? Killed!"

As soon as returned to my lair, I would make sure to disable every one of my traps. God forbid, my student was lucky she had not found herself at the bottom of the lake!

Christine's eyes were stretched so wide, I could see the whites of them on every side. "A-Angel?"

I rubbed my temples, any semblance of an appetite lost. "Finish your food. We leave in five minutes."

I had no desire to continue this conversation. Christine knew I was the Opera Ghost. Even Madame Giry knew that Christine knew. Was I the only one who hadn't known?

My mood soured considerably.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Many thanks for the reviews, my lovelies! I apologize that I haven't had a chance to reply individually yet. I will do so when I'm back home. As of now, I'm terribly jet-lagged after traveling, followed by immediately having a series of meetings upon arrival...and no time to eat. Will be busy over the next few weeks working with the orchestra - rehearsals, concerts, pre-concert talks, press interviews. Despite having done this for years, I'm STILL all nerves. Wish me luck! **

**Chapter 7**

Christine was quiet as we left the restaurant. When we reached the carriage, I ordered my student to sit in the passenger's seat rather than up front with me. I pretended not to notice the expression of hurt which flashed upon her face.

But it could not be helped. I was growing increasingly annoyed with my student observing me, and I needed some space. After my student had settled into her seat, I gently urged César forward. We were now on our way to the De Chagny's.

It was so clearly not a good idea for me to attend the masquerade, yet I found myself wanting to please my childish student. The situation was both frustrating and perplexing. My will had always been mine alone. I had never bent it for another. Not now, not ever. Even in Persia with the threat of death, I had toyed with the Shah and deliberately disobeyed his orders. So, why was I helpless against the silly whims of my student?

I sighed, trying to settle the feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach. I would escort Christine inside, then leave as quickly as I could. With silent resolve, I pressed César to a slightly brisker pace.

"Angel?" Christine's voice, close to the back of my head, startled me. "Are...are you cross with me?"

Turning slightly, I noticed with surprise that she had parted the curtains behind me and was poking her head out.

"Erik?" she called softly, her breath tickling the back of my neck.

"Christine, sit back down," I demanded roughly, feeling myself redden beneath the mask. "You might get hurt standing like that."

I hadn't anticipated Christine would stand while riding in the carriage. No, I had thought Christine would sit prettily in the coach. But then, I hadn't expected she would explore the catacombs or that she'd be talented at picking locks.

It was increasingly clear I did not know my student as well as I thought I did.

"I used to stand all the time when Papa was driving, and he didn't mind—"

"I don't care what you did as a child! Sit down!" I roared.

Wordlessly, she complied, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

"You are angry," she stated, her voice morose and muffled from behind the curtain.

I said nothing, cursing myself for taking my temper out on her again. But what could I tell her? That I was a hideous, corpse-faced murderer who secretly lusted after her?

"Please don't be angry," she sniffed.

"You should already be quite familiar with my temper, child," I responded after a long moment, slipping back into my more parental role as her angel. Without seeing her, I knew she was sulking.

"I am not a child," she replied petulantly. When I said nothing, she murmured, "I'm sorry I upset you."

She sounded so miserable that I sighed, "You mustn't blame yourself, my dear." I added dryly, "Truly, my temper has nothing to do with you."

There was another sniff, and she ventured in a small voice, "Does it...have to do with why you wear a mask?"

I inhaled sharply at her question.

An uncomfortable silence settled between us, and I managed in an uncharacteristically strained voice, "I ask only for your understanding, Christine. Do not question me about the mask, and do not touch it."

Much to my relief, Christine did not argue, though I could feel her thinking.

When we arrived, I was secretly grateful no servant had come to our assistance, most likely because it was so late that the De Chagny's might have given up on Christine arriving. The mansion was brightly lit, and through the gigantic windows, I could see finely dressed guests dancing and chatting. I was immensely relieved that most of them continued to wear their masks, which meant they were adhering to the custom of removing them at midnight, an event for which I would not linger.

I stepped out of the carriage and offered a hand to help Christine. She smiled shyly at me and took my hand without hesitation.

"Thank you," she murmured softly, absurdly polite.

I felt awkward, ridiculously light-headed from her touch through the glove. I could feel her watching me, and I quickly averted my gaze.

She stumbled then, as her dress caught. The action startled us both, and her body fell clumsily against mine. I immediately placed a hand upon her back, steadying her and without meaning to, pressing her against me.

Her eyes were wide now, and she looked up, a question in her gaze. Suddenly aware of our proximity, I stumbled back, hoping that the mask would hide the furious blush upon my face. My eyes flickered to meet her own, and I cleared my throat self-consciously.

"You go ahead." My voice had deepened, and I gestured abruptly toward the mansion. "I will...I will join you shortly."

Her eyes brightened, her hand tugging at my sleeve. "Angel, you'll really join me?"

I refused to meet her gaze, my head bowed and hands clenching into fists. But the feeling of her soft warmth against my body, temporary as it had been, had already imprinted itself into my memory.

"I mean...you're not going to leave me now, are you?"

"Have I ever broken a promise?" I shot back, somewhat vexed.

Christine nodded with a smile. "Okay, _ange_. I'll wait for you inside."

I did not reply, and Christine released my sleeve and slowly made her way to the front door.

When she disappeared inside, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now, I could change masks and switch cloaks. I would do so inside the coach, all the while keeping on the hat, just in case. Climbing inside the coach, I drew the curtains closed, then swiftly peeled away the flesh-colored mask before replacing it with the golden one.

Because the golden mask had been designed for my days as a magician, it was suitably dramatic and tailored to create the illusion that the face beneath it was 'handsome'. It not only strategically covered my ruined features, but it also provided me with an attractively-sculpted nose and cheek. The half of my face that was normal likewise complemented the illusion.

The mask's color also brought out the intense hues in my eyes. Though mismatched, my eyes would not look as creepy as they did with darker or duller-colored masks. It was with this mask that several female members of the audience had even flirted with me, never knowing my true appearance underneath.

Next, I removed the hat and traveler's cloak. With the black, tailor-made suit, I knew I would strike an imposing, distinguished figure, one who could mingle freely with the affluent De Chagny's and their elegant guests.

Inwardly, though, I knew I had really chosen this outfit in a petty and futile attempt to compete with that disgustingly handsome boy, whom I could imagine over a hundred ways to kill.

Lastly, I felt below the seat and found a small mirror. This would be one of the very rare occasions that I had brought the hateful item with me, yet I needed to appear as close to perfect as possible as Christine's eminent teacher.

My hair was flattened because of the hat, and I threaded my fingers carefully through it, somewhat frustrated when it curled wildly at the bottom. Well, there was not much I could do about it. The boy's image again intruded into my thoughts, and I found myself wishing I had brought a comb.

Replacing the mirror, I exited the carriage and stood for a moment, assessing the mansion. No, I did not want to enter through the front door and have to announce myself like some arrogant aristocrat. I would rather sneak in through a window or back door. Surely, they had another way inside.

Sticking to the shadows, I made my way toward the back of the mansion, noting with satisfaction a door to a darkened foyer that was not lit. With a swift glance around, I walked toward the door, picked the lock, and slipped inside.


End file.
